


Sound of Silence

by reliablyimperfect



Series: Sound of Silence [1]
Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Bit of Drama, Cute, Kid Fic, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-13
Updated: 2017-04-13
Packaged: 2018-10-18 08:25:00
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,404
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10613031
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/reliablyimperfect/pseuds/reliablyimperfect
Summary: Have you ever taken sudden interest in something? You scour the internet for hours researching it, finding out anything and everything you can. I’ve done that four times now.The first time I noticed something odd, Jamil was around six months old. He had crawled up behind me while I was making dinner one night and, not knowing that, I backed up and stepped on his hand. I had flinched and bent down immediately to scoop him into my arms, fully expecting an onslaught of screaming to follow. All I got, however, was tears streaming down his bright red face. At that moment, and in the days following, I looked back at all the times he had cried. He cried the moment he was born, and about two dozen times after that, especially around the time his mum left, but he rarely screamed. His crying consisted of small sniffles and tears.Or, Zayn doesn't know what's wrong with his son for the longest time, but after he figured it out, things get a little easier until Liam shows up. But, then again, maybe it's a good thing he did.





	

**Author's Note:**

> So, if you made it this far, that means you either know me and like my stories, or the summary wasn't as bad as I thought. Took out a part of the beginning because I couldn't for the life of me summarize this story. It's very...different, maybe a bit slow, but I'm pretty sure there will be another part to this, maybe two. Please read it and let me know what you think (and if there should even BE a part two!) Leave me a comment and tell me how you like it and what you'd want in the next part!
> 
> I tried to stay true to how ASL is really used. There isn't a sign for every word, so it kind of seems like broken English. If anything is confusing, let me know and I'll edit it.
> 
> Any and all mistakes are my own, as I do not have an editor.  
> Enjoy!

Have you ever taken sudden interest in something? You scour the internet for hours researching it, finding out anything and everything you can. I’ve done that four times now.

The first time I noticed something odd, Jamil was around six months old. He had crawled up behind me while I was making dinner one night and, not knowing that, I backed up and stepped on his hand. I had flinched and bent down immediately to scoop him into my arms, fully expecting an onslaught of screaming to follow. All I got, however, was tears streaming down his bright red face. At that moment, and in the days following, I looked back at all the times he had cried. He cried the moment he was born, and about two dozen times after that, especially around the time his mum left, but he rarely screamed. His crying consisted of small sniffles and tears.

I made an appointment that week. He was diagnosed with hearing loss. My child was deaf. He couldn’t hear himself, so he had stopped making noises. That night, I had more than ten tabs open on my laptop trying to research hearing loss and sign language. The next day, I started teaching my son sign language.

When Jamil was about two, I really registered that he was responding to my voice. At first, it slipped my mind; perhaps he caught a glimpse of movement that caught his attention, but no. He could hear me call his name, and he would turn around. That’s when I made the next appointment. The doctors poked at him, prodded him, and checked in his ears. They called his name over and over, and made random noises to see if he would respond. He passed his hearing test, but was diagnosed as autistic. That night, I was up again. My laptop was glued to my lap until the wee hours of the morning, and I sat there Googling any and all forms of autism. I thought I was learning so much about my son, but it still wasn’t right.

The third time we visited the doctor, Jamil had just turned four. He had yet to say his first word, and even my friends were started to say things. It was nothing bad; I would never let them talk down about my son. However, they were questioning why he wasn’t speaking. So, we visited that same doctor’s office for the third time in my son’s short life. We left the doctor’s office with the diagnosis of a language delay. My son can hear me, but he cannot process the words that I am saying. That hit me hard. I contemplated researching that night, but instead, I curled up on the couch with my son and played with his soft hair until he fell asleep in my lap.

The next day, I researched.

About five months before Jamil’s fifth birthday, he said his first word. Regardless of his language delay, I loved talking to my son. I had been chopping up some vegetables for our dinner, and I asked Jamil if he wanted some juice. He had been signing ‘juice’ at me for about two minutes, and, already knowing that’s what he wanted, I turned to the fridge to grab the bottle of juice. After I poured him some juice, I brought it to him and set it down on the table in front of him. Before I could turn away, he tapped the table, catching my attention. I was surprised at the very focused expression on his little face. He looked up at me and, making uncertain eye contact, said “Fanks.” My world froze for a couple seconds and I scooped him up into a hug, praising him, cooing, and telling him how great he is. He simply cocked his head at me and signed ‘juice’ again, staring back at the table.

After that, his sounds came more frequently. He didn’t say many words, but he enjoyed making sound effects when he played, and squealing outside. It was so _different_ from the quiet house I was accustomed to, but it was welcome.

His sounds continued to grow in both volume and frequency during the next few months, with him saying more and more comprehensible words. I knew he had been misdiagnosed again, so, one night, I made another appointment.

The day of the appointment, I loaded Jamil into his car seat and started the drive to the doctor. He had been humming in the backseat when we pulled into the parking lot. His sounds immediately stopped. I glanced at him in the mirror, and he was staring at me. His eyebrows were scrunched up, and, with his face set in a scowl, he signed ‘why here?’

I sighed. “Because we have another appointment.” I could see the trust leave his eyes at my words. He sighed and set his chin in his hand as I pulled into a parking spot. “C’mon.” He didn’t move. “Jamie. We need to go.” He looked at me with sad eyes, and turned back to stare out the window. “Jamil. Now, please.” He still ignored me. “You have five seconds to get unbuckled and out of this car.” I warned. “One, Two, Three, Four, Five.” I sighed. I opened my door and did the same with his. I unbuckled his seatbelt myself and took his hand as I grabbed my bag with the other. A tear streaked down his bright red face and he shook his head.

‘No. Please. Baba, no.’ He signed desperately at me, but I picked him up and held him close to me. I felt his body trembling, totally soundless. People stared as we walked up to the counter to sign in. It used to bother me, but now it’s normal. When you see a child crying silently, it tends to unsettle some. I sat down in a chair and he immediately climbed off my lap to go sit in his own chair. I knew he was mad, but I didn’t know what I did would have ramifications.

“Jamil Malik?” A nurse with a white coat came out holding a chart, and I stood, grabbed my bag, and grabbed Jamil’s hand. The nurse led us back to a room and let us know the doctor would be in shortly.

“Do you want to read a book?” I asked. He ignored me, instead, jumped up onto the chair with the crinkly paper. He ran his fingertips over the paper, occasionally pressing down to hear the soft crinkles. Eventually, he found the edge and crumpled it, making a louder noise. He sighed, set the paper down, and stared at his hands. His eyebrows were still drawn up, and I knew he was scared. He never liked going to the doctor.

When the door opened, he flinched away and a tear fell down his cheek. I shook the doctor’s hand and he sat down next to me, waving politely to Jamil.

“So, what brings the two of you back?”

“Jamil was diagnosed with a language delay about a year ago, and he recently started talking to me. Making noises.” I explained.

“Oh, congratulations! What has he said?”

“He thanked me for juice, said bye once, and other simple words. He likes to hum, and he responds to me.”

“Okay, I’m just gonna take a look.” He wheeled his stool over to the exam table Jamil was sitting on, and looking at my son, my heart broke. He was a mess. His hair was disheveled, he was crying, and his face was bright red. “Do you wanna sit in your father’s lap for this?” The doctor asked kindly. He didn’t reply, and he didn’t move, so the doctor continued. He checked his ears, nose, and throat before listening to his breathing and heart. He had him lay flat on his back and poked and prodded at his belly. I could tell Jamil didn’t like it. He kept making the face that says ‘help.’ He was begging me with his eyes to get him out of there, but I couldn’t.

“Okay, he needs to have his hearing tested again, responses, motor skills, and everything. We can do that right here if you want. I can go make sure the lab is cleared and we can get that done while you’re already here.” I nodded, and he excused himself to go do those.

I stood up and sat next to Jamil on the exam table. I tried to pull him into my lap, but he shuffled away from me without looking in my direction. I sighed, but left him alone after that.

 

***

 

When we got back home, Jamil disappeared silently into his room. He didn’t speak for a week.

 

***

 

We were called back in from some more testing ten days after the most recent appointment, and I had to load Jamil up into the car again. He was humming along to a song on the radio, kicking his feet into the back of my seat.

“Jamil, can you stop kicking my seat? I can feel that.” I asked, catching his eyes in the rearview mirror. He smiled sheepishly at me, but the kicking stopped.

Once again, when I pulled into the parking lot, my son fell quiet. He didn’t question me this time, and he didn’t put up a fight while we went inside. It was almost as if he resigned himself to his fate.

 

***

 

Jamil didn’t talk for a while after that appointment, and it was then that I noticed the pattern. He would hold conversations with me at the house. Sometimes he would use his words, but typically, he would sign with me. After I put him in bed that night, I opened my laptop again. This time, I searched reasons why a young child wouldn’t be speaking. I found an article about an anxiety disorder called selective mutism.

The more I read on this article, the more I learned about my boy. He was due to start school in a month, right after his birthday, and I was curious as to how that would go. I sighed and closed my laptop. Pushing the covers off my legs, I padded into Jamil’s room and sat down next to his bed. I stroked his hair softly, cursing in my head when he stirred.

“Baba,” He said groggily.

“Hey, buddy, go back to sleep,” I said softly.

“Why you here?” He sighed softly, rolling over to look at me. I shuffled onto his bed and opened my arms to let him curl into my chest. I inhaled the scent of his shampoo, his hair soft and still slightly damp from the bath I gave him earlier.

“Just wanted to check on you. Make sure you were okay.” I kissed his head as he closed his eyes. When I heard his breathing even out, I carefully got him settled back on his bed and quietly left the room. After one last glance at my son, I walked back to bed.

I woke up to movement on my bed about four in the morning. I blinked open my eyes, letting them adjust to focus on the face of my son kneeling on the bed beside me. I pulled him into my side, letting him talk first.

“Hi,” He whispered. He traced figures on my bare chest and, upon looking down, I realised they were hearts. I felt a tear form in the corner of my eye. He hasn’t told me he loves me yet. I think it’s a mixture of him not understanding the concept of love and the fact that, most of the time, he would say it when I leave. However, I’ve rarely been away from him.

“Hey, buddy. What are _you_ doing here?”

“Checking on you.” He grinned. My heart melted and I pulled him to my chest and squeezed him until I heard his soft laugh.

“You’re so sweet. Why are you awake though?” He shrugged, clearly done talking. “Do you want to stay here tonight?” He grinned up at me again and I pulled back the sheets to let him under. He shuffled around until he got comfortable and his eyes closed. I leaned over to kiss his head, and we both fell asleep.

 

***

 

A couple mornings after, banging woke me up around eight. I groaned and rubbed my face, trying to wipe the sleep away. It didn’t work. Padding down the hallway towards the front door, I unlocked it and pulled it open, squinting against the direct sunlight. I looked around and caught sight of a guy around my age on the front porch next door. He was bent over, hammering down boards.

“Hey!” I called, hoping to grab his attention. He startled and looked around, catching sight of me.

“Hi!” He walked down the stairs and jogged up to my front door, rubbing his hands on his shirt. “I’m Liam. I just moved in yesterday.” He stuck out his hand.

“I’m Zayn,” I said. I took his hand briefly, nodding as I did.

“I hope I didn’t wake you.” He rubbed a hand over the back of his neck and I found my gaze wandering to the bicep that was visible. He had on a grey tank top with jeans that hung low on his hips.

“You did, but I needed to get up and cook breakfast.”

“Good! Do you need to be awake at any certain time tomorrow? I can make sure I’m hammering then, too.” He chuckled. I flashed a smile at him for the joke, and I shook my head.

“I’m _hoping_ to be able to sleep in. Nothing to do tomorrow except watch TV on the couch.”

“That sounds lovely. My TV is still in a box somewhere.” At this moment, his gaze slowly travelled down from my eyes, and I realised, after being woken by the banging, I hadn’t dressed. I was still only clad in the gym shorts I slept in. Having sagged a little in my sleep, a small patch of dark hair was just visible above the waistband of my shorts. My bare torso on display, his gaze raked over my abs and, when his gaze returned to my face, I could have sworn his pupils were bigger. He cleared his throat, and I could feel the tension growing slowly. I wasn’t sure how to nonchalantly bring up something to talk about, so I stood, mute, feeling the awkwardness grow as the silence stretched out. I was saved from responding as a voice spoke out behind me.

“Baba, what’re you doin’?” Jamil sidled up next to me and, as he locked eyes with Liam, I could physically _see_ him shut down. His eyes got wide and his eyebrows furrowed minutely, signaling his discomfort. He turned warily back to me, signing quickly. ‘Who?’ His lips parted slightly and I saw his bottom lip tremble for a second before he pulled it between his teeth.

‘One minute. Inside, please.’ I signed back, petting his head reassuringly as he turned around and disappeared into the house. I cleared my throat and met Liam’s confused gaze.

“You guys know sign language,” He said dumbly.

“I know.”

“Sorry. That was stupid. Yeah. Okay. I’m gonna go before I embarrass myself further.” His cheeks were slowly becoming red as the colour travelled from his neck. “It was nice to meet you.” He waved at me as he walked back to his porch. I closed myself back inside and I heard the hammering start back up about a minute later.

“Jamie?” I called. I searched a few rooms in the house before finding my son in his room. He had spread out a few toys on his floor, making planes fly soundlessly and men work without a word. “Hey.” I said softly. He glanced back at me, acknowledging my presence, then turned back to play. I sighed and sat down next to him.

“That was Liam. He moving in next door. He thinks it’s really cool that we know sign language.” He shrugged. "Do you have any suggestions for breakfast. I was thinking French toast.” He nodded and I left him to his devices. “I’ll be in the kitchen if you need me.” I stood up and kissed his hair on my way out.

 

***

 

It took a couple hours after the run-in with Liam for Jamie to initiate a conversation. He stood in the doorway, testing his voice. I sat patiently, waiting for him to find his words, and he practically forced out the question with his slurred speech.

“…’s Leeyum back?” His voice, underdeveloped as it was with his lack of speech, was hard to understand when you first met him. It took ages for my mum to understand him, and forget about trying to talk on the phone with him. I, however, was an expert on his voice, understanding about 99% of his garbled English.

“What do you mean?”

“He here again?”

“No, he’s not here right now.” He huffed in frustration, and his eyebrows furrowed as he thought about his words carefully.

“Leeyum, again come here?” He paused between each word, as if to test them out, and he scowled at the end of his question, already knowing I didn’t understand. He is very good at reading faces.

“I’m sorry, buddy. I don’t understand your question. Your words sound good, but try again.” I could see his frustration spiking as his little brain tried, and failed, to find his words. His eyes pricked with tears, and he wiped them away furiously, sniffling. He huffed again, stuffing his hands through his hair and pulling harshly. I jumped up and grabbed his hands, careful not to pull.

“Hey! No, no, no! We aren’t going to do that. We can find words. Now, try one more time.” He sighed, relaxing, and I could see his brain working again.

I hated watching him struggle with his voice. It was much easier for him to get his point across using his hands, but I know he does like to use his voice at home.

“How spell Leeyum?”

“How do you spell his name?” I clarified. Making sure I understood, his eyes lost a bit of their anger and he nodded, happy that he accurately expressed his question. “L-I-A-M. Why?” I fingerspelled as I told him, figuring he was asking so he can sign.

His hands came up as his mind started working, first signing ‘Future,’ before he signed the rest, ‘L-I-A-M here again?’ He paused, and clarified. ‘Like…not now, but later.’

“You want to know if Liam is going to be here again?” He nodded, eyes wide with excitement. “The word you were needing is ‘will.’ You wanted to ask me ‘Will Liam come here again?’” I paused, letting his mouth form the new word, and resumed, “Do you want him to come back? If you don’t want to see him again, I can make sure he stays away.”

‘No, no, no!’ He signs quickly. ‘Not mean that. Only want to know because he like you.’

“W-what? I stammered. “How do you know for sure? You saw him for like two seconds!”

‘Obvious!’ He signed it big, his grin even bigger.

“How?”

‘Look again-again-again your,’ and he started to list, ‘face, arms, chest, tummy…’ I cut him off before he could go any lower, face hot.

“Okay…” I drew it out, trying to find something else to talk about. “How are you about seeing him again?” I asked neutrally.

He shrugged, eyebrows drawn again. ‘Can come back but want distance.’

“I can do that.” And I kissed the top of his head.

 

***

 

It was a couple days before the opportunity presented itself to have Liam over.

“Hey, Liam!” I called one afternoon as he was walking up from his mailbox. He jogged up to our door and greeted me with a huge smile. “How’s the house coming along?”

“It’s getting there! I still have a lot of boxes to unpack, but when I’m done, your brother and you can come check it out. I have a sweet yard out back!” I chuckled at his error, causing his eyebrows to furrow.

“He’s my son. Not my brother.” I’ve never been embarrassed of having a son, even at my age. I wasn’t a teen parent, but I was young. Almost 26 and I have a kid who is about to be five.

“Okay! That does make a little more sense, considering your age gap!” He chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. Must be a nervous habit. “But yes, you and your son…?” He trailed off, and I realised he was fishing for his name.

“Jamil. But he goes by Jamie, too.”

“Jamie and you are welcome anytime, but you should wait until the house is done.”

“Then how about you come to my place? We can watch a movie, or catch a footie game. Jamil loves them.”

“That sounds nice. Six? Or is that too early?”

“Six sounds great. I will see you then!”

 

***

 

Precisely at six, there was a loud knock on the door. Having been prewarned about Liam’s arrival, Jamil only flinched. His wide, worried eyes met mine, eyebrows scrunched up, and I hugged him on my way to open the door.

“It will be fine. If you need a break, you can go outside. Just let me know.” He grinned and nodded, moving away from the door as I opened it to reveal a freshly showered, casually dressed Liam.

“I see you got the memo about the dress code.” I chuckled, taking in the long-sleeved red shirt that clung tightly to his upper body and his grey sweatpants that hugged his hips and thighs deliciously. I found myself staring, and my eyes glazed over. Upon his entering the house, I caught a whiff of his body spray, and I thought my knees would give out. I shook myself to see him eyeing me sharply, and I took in his blown pupils, knowing mine probably mirrored his own.

“Yeah.” His voice was gravelly, from lack of use or something else, I was unsure, but he cleared his throat and caught Jamie’s eyes. “You must be Jamie.” He said carefully. When Jamie gave him a small nod, Liam got down on his level and beckoned him forward. Jamie approached slowly, stopping just behind me, and gripped my sweats as he watched Liam silently. With shaky hands, Liam introduced himself.

‘My…name…-L-I-A-M. Nice meet you.’ His signs were sloppy, and he technically signed ‘clean’ instead of ‘nice,’ but the effort brought tears to my eyes, and Jamie’s face was priceless as he continued to stare at Liam. No one had ever signed to Jamie other than my parents and myself.

Jamie’s hands flew as he signed back to Liam. ‘Hi! My name J-A-M-I-E. I like cars. Like climb tree, too!’ I couldn’t help but laugh at Liam’s face when Jamie started signing.

“Slow down there, bud. Don’t think he knows those signs quite yet.”

“No, sorry, bud. Only know my ABC’s and ‘nice to meet you.’” Liam frowned, obviously upset with himself for not learning the entirety of ASL in the few days since he’s met my son.

“Well, we can teach you a few more signs, right, Jamie?” He nodded furiously, eager to show off his skills. I was proud of him for how well he was doing with Liam. He still had an edginess to his movements, and he wouldn’t get closer than five feet to Liam, but he was making an effort to communicate with him, which was a huge thing. Jamil actively pursuing conversations with a near stranger was unheard of.

 

A little more than an hour later, after we had settled on the couch, the movie I had picked was playing, unwatched. The night had turned into an ASL lesson, teaching Liam new signs and perfecting his fingerspelling. Jamie’s face was etched with concentration as he spelled out a new word for Liam.

‘P-L-A-Y.’ And then he showed him the sign: both hands in a ‘Y’ shape, and shaking your wrists. Liam copied, and Jamil grinned as he got it right. Over the last few minutes, I’ve noticed that, when he isn’t concentrating on signing, his eyebrows draw together and his teeth find his bottom lip, showing the outward signs of his growing discomfort.

‘Want go outside?’ I signed quickly, giving Jamil some privacy in case he didn’t want Liam to know. He nodded, looking a bit relieved, and I said, out loud, “Hey, bud, you wanna go play outside for a bit? I’m gonna talk to Liam.” He nodded again, waved bye to Liam, and flew out the door.

“You’re good with him.” I said to Liam, who looked like he had a slight headache. “I know he’s a handful, but he means well.”

“I feel like I just learned half of the language, but at the same time, I still feel like I’m clueless.” He chuckled tiredly.

“You’re doing great.” I said seriously. “And thank you for trying. No one has ever done that before.”

“He’s an amazing kid. Very smart, I can tell.” I nodded, lost for words, and we sat in a comfortable silence for a few minutes.

“Can I ask something?” He piped up, startling me out of my reverie.

“You just did, but I’ll allow a second question.” He chuckled at my lame joke, but his face got serious again after.

“Jamie can talk, yes? I heard him that first day.”

“That would be correct.”

“So why doesn’t he talk?” I sighed and he immediately stammered out an apology. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have asked. You do not have to answer that.”

“It’s fine.” I said. “He went to the doctor a lot when he was a kid, diagnosed with many different things like autism and a language delay, but I have self-diagnosed him with selective mutism after some extensive research.”

“What’s that?”

“It’s a type of anxiety disorder. Basically, he talks to family, but he doesn’t use his voice outside of the house. And, if he gets really overwhelmed, he won’t even sign.”

“Wow.” _Here comes the sympathy speech_. I thought. “Why did it take so long to diagnose him with that?  The doctors didn’t know what was going on?” _Hmmm…that’s a new one._ Normally, people’s responses to the fact that my son doesn’t like talking include ‘Well how do you communicate? How does he know what you want him to do?’ In which I remind them that my son is not deaf, and can talk when he chooses to. But we decided on sign language for his main means of communication.

“They originally thought he was deaf, which started the signing, then, he started responding to my voice, which gave us the diagnosis of autism. A couple years later, we really noticed he wasn’t talking. He was four and had yet to say a real word, so I took him back and they said he had a language delay. Later, he started saying words, and his speech took off. He started making more sounds, and we visited the doctor again. He wouldn’t talk to me after the appointments, but I thought it was just because he was mad. We went back a couple times for more trails and testing, and I noticed the pattern. His sounds would go away when we were out of the house or car. So, I researched it, and it really fit him.”

“That’s amazing that you went through all that and didn’t completely freak out.” He instantly backtracked, face a mask of horror. “Not that there’s anything wrong with him of course!”

“I know what you meant,” I chuckled. “And I was scared. Terrified, even. And I wasn’t sure what could come of this, but I’ve learned real patience, and how to calm him down from anxiety attacks. He really likes to be sung to, and a quiet room really helps. I remember his first anxiety attack; I tried to give him a hug and he punched me in the jaw. Didn’t mean to, but he was freaking out. Figured out really quick that he doesn’t like to be touched during an anxiety attack.” I chuckled, glanced at the clock on the wall, and cursed softly.

“Would you mind running out to grab Jamie? I’m gonna go put the finishing touches on dinner. Are you staying?” I asked.

“I’d love to.” He grinned and went out the back door to the yard.

A minute later, Liam came back in, a terrified look on his face. I knew what was coming, but suppressed my amused look.

“Z-Zayn…he’s not out there. I didn’t see anyone.”

“Did you check the tree?” I asked.

“The what?”

“The large tree to the right. He likes to climb around in the tree. Hardly touches the ground when he goes out there.” I chuckled. “He’s in the tree.”

Liam sighed in relief and scurried back outside, returning a few minutes later with my pink-faced son.

 

***

 

About an hour later, as Jamie was getting ready for bed, Liam looked like he wanted to say something. He held his tongue, however, and I made a mental note to question him about it later.

 

“What were you thinking about earlier?” I asked him, popping open two beers for us. I took a swig before Liam replied, and I watched his eyes follow my movements.

“Jamie likes his tree, right?”

“Yes. Spends most of his time outside in that damned tree.” I rolled my eyes fondly.

“Don’t mean to cross a line or overstep my boundaries, but why don’t you build him a treehouse?”

“I don’t have the time, or the skill, and I can’t afford to hire anyone.”

“I’ll do it.”

“Sometime, when I save up real money, I’ll get him a tree house. But as for now, I just can’t afford it.”

“Zayn, I want to build it. I’ll do it.”

“Liam, I can’t pay you, and I can’t have you doing it for free.” I sighed.

“Then I’ll work for…” He trailed off, then looked around. “I’ll work for food.” He chuckled.

“You’ll what?” I asked incredulously.

“I will build the treehouse if you’re willing to cook. I’m a shit cook, and dinner was great.”

“Why should I trust you to build my son a treehouse? I just met you.” I took another swig of my beer.

“I’m good with my hands.” He said lowly. I choked on my drink, coughing forcefully. Before he could say anything about my lack of drinking skills, I nodded.

“Deal.”

“Then I’ll start tomorrow.”

 

***

 

True to his word, at nine o’clock Monday morning, Liam was setting up scaffolding in the backyard.

I set up work in the living room, telling myself it was to make sure Liam was working diligently. (Seeing his muscles flex under his tight plaid shirt was just a bonus. And if I paid a bit more attention when he stripped off that shirt and continued working in just a tank top, it was only to make sure he didn’t pass out from heat stroke…yeah…that’s it.)

Luckily for me, I got the summers off to spend time with my son. A couple years ago, back when my mother lived in the area, she would take care of Jamil while I went to work. A teaching job might not pay much, but getting to spend some quality time with my son on the weekends and breaks was worth it.

I was a special education teacher at the elementary school in town. The third-grade classes were always so full of energy and always ready to learn. The best part, however, was, when Jamil started school, he wouldn’t be subjected to a bus ride home full of strangers.

I worried about my son; any parent would. But, sometimes, I felt like I was a bit _too_ protective. A bit of freedom is good. Last year, when Jamil would complain about staying inside while I had to work on grading papers or lesson plans, I would pack up my things and go sit outside with him. In those early days of his diagnoses, (even though they all turned out to be false) I wouldn’t let him out of my sight. Once I accepted it, I needed to remind myself that _he is not broken_.

A loud drilling noise broke me out of my daze, and I focused outside where Liam had begun setting up the support beams for the base of the treehouse. He was covered in a layer of sweat, making his tan skin glisten in the light, and I found my eyes drawn to the muscles in his arms and back as he worked. When he turned around to grab a tool, our eyes met and, embarrassed for being caught staring, I ducked my head and continued planning my lessons.

 

***

 

Liam, every day for a week, came over at nine o’clock sharp and worked for four hours. By that time, I had lunch ready and Liam, Jamil and I sat down and ate. Liam’s signing, while still slow and choppy, was coming along. He could follow simple conversations if they were signed slow enough, but when Jamil got too excited and his hands moved so quickly, Liam always ended up lost.

Jamie hasn’t gotten comfortable enough around Liam to speak again, even though the first time wasn’t intentional. It took him nearly a month before he spoke to my mother, and, even then, it was only because he couldn’t get his point across with signing. My mother had told me that night when I picked up my son how, with a scrunched up and bright red face, he had forcibly whispered his first word at her.

I also got to see the aftermath. When he came home, he wouldn’t say a word. He didn’t communicate for nearly two days, but I often checked up on him to find him with a tear-streaked face. He was a mixture of embarrassment and anger. Embarrassment for his inability to communicate with my mum, and anger from being _forced_ to speak. He was very angry that the choice to speak was taken away from him. We no longer had that problem. Now he had a nonverbal language to fall back on when he was overwhelmed or uncomfortable, and my mom was as skilled at signing as I was. She sometimes introduced me to signs I wasn’t aware existed, especially the more regional signs.

Jamil had begun to venture outside to watch Liam work. He was bonding with Liam, I knew it, and it kind of scared me. Liam and I had sat down a few times while I voiced concerns about my son. He, regardless of having major anxiety problems, gets attached to people very easily, much like his father. When I walked past the door one afternoon, I heard Jamie laughing softly. I paused and listened as Liam continued to tell him storied about his new puppy.

I knew that having relations with the man living right next door probably wasn’t the best idea, but it didn’t stop my heart from thudding heavily in my chest every time he caught my eye as he worked.

After a solid week of leaving Liam to his devices, I ventured out to get a good look at the treehouse. I gazed up at the large three, and my mouth fell open. It wasn’t lavishly beautiful or anything as cheesy as that, but I could tell that my son would love it. I was adamant that Jamil stay out of the tree house until it was done, but I knew there was no way to keep him out of the yard. So, when he wasn’t in his room, I could typically find my son silently watching Liam in the backyard.

 

***

 

The day finally came about a week before Jamil’s birthday, and only ten days before school started. It was a normal day at the beginning. Liam came over and worked while I was working with Jamie on his reading. I could tell he was getting antsy after a couple of hours. Right before we took our break for lunch, Liam walked in. He made his way quietly to the restroom. Jamie’s big sigh drew my attention from the hall as he looked up at me with a pitiful look.

“I don’ wanna do this.” He said quietly.

“I know, bud, but you have to be ready. Don’t want you to fall behind.” I ruffled his hair as I started packing up our stuff. “Ready for lunch? Liam is in the bathroom, but wash your hands when he comes out, okay?” His head whipped to the hallway, a worried look on his face.

‘Think Liam hear me?’ He asked, referring to his complaint a moment ago.

“I don’t know, but he’s heard you talk before. I don’t think he’s going to make a big deal about it.” I said softly. He nodded, still looking a bit worried, but it slipped from his face gradually as lunch passed without Liam acting any different.

 

“Jamie, I have a surprise.” Liam said, glancing at me with a smirk. Jamie cocked his head as if asking ‘what is it?’ Liam chuckled. “You have a brand-new treehouse to decorate.” Jamil jumped out of his chair and, surprising both of us, screamed. He ran around the table to Liam and threw his arms around his neck. Liam returned the hug, in shock. I don’t remember the last time I’d heard my son make a noise that loud, and Liam had only ever heard his voice that first morning along with a few soft sighs and a chuckle or two. Without waiting for either of us, he raced outside, leaving the door open. Smiling, Liam and I followed him.

We found Jamie running around the base of the treehouse. He looked like he was vibrating with excitement, and he ran back up to Liam and, shocking the both of us, spoke.

“I love it! Fanks!” His voice was full of excitement with none of his usual shyness. Liam’s eyes went wide for half a second, but he placed a hand on Jamie’s head. They locked eyes for a moment and I could see Jamie calm. It unsettled me a little on how easy all of this was. Jamie didn’t take to strangers as easily as he had with Liam, and it was odd.

“You wanna go up?” Liam asked. Jamie nodded, eyes bright and smile wide. He looked at me, cocking his head for permission. Shaking myself out of my daze, I let him.

“Go ahead.” I waved him off and Jamil climbed the ladder quickly, disappearing into the treehouse. He poked his head out the little window a moment later, waving frantically. We didn’t see him for the rest of the day. He came down once to grab a little seat and got Liam’s help getting it up, but once he was settled, there wasn’t a sound from outside.

 

“I’m thinking I might paint the inside for him,” I said to Liam as we were sitting on the couch that evening. It was getting close to dinner time, but I wanted to let Jamie have as much time as possible outside since he’s been stuck indoors for a while. Also, I was craving time alone with Liam. Sometimes, I think he’s flirting, and then he’ll say something that makes all the evidence I’ve gathered mean nothing. When I made this arrangement for Liam to build the treehouse, I had assumed that I would get to spend more time with him, but he had been very diligent with his work, and now he’s done.

“I can hear the high-pitched whine of your brain from here,” Liam said teasingly. “Spit it out; what’s wrong?” It was incredible how accurately he could read my moods, and yet, a little unnerving. Not even my two best friends, Niall and Harry, could read my emotions that easily, much less after knowing me for only a short time.

“I was just thinking,” I started. Liam cut me off.

“Oh boy.” I rolled my eyes, playfully smacking his shoulder.

“Hush.” I crossed my arms, suddenly awkward. “I was just thinking about what was going to happen now that you’re done.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, Jamie is obviously fond of you; he spoke tonight. And I…” I trailed off, unsure of what to say.

“You…?” Liam prompted, raising his eyebrows. I wasn’t sure how much he knew about my feelings for me, but he was perceptive. He was bound to know something.

“I can’t lie and say that I haven’t gotten used to having you around, either.” I finally decided on. Liam grinned.

“I’ve kind of gotten used to hanging around, and I have to admit that I’ve gotten used to having people around at times.”

“What do _you_ mean?” I asked. I really didn’t want Liam to make me make the first move, but I would if that was the only option. Luckily, Liam saved me from that.

“I was wondering if you’d like to get dinner sometime?” He asked. He said it with an air of confidence, but I could tell by the slouch of his shoulders and the way his eyebrows furrowed just a bit that he was nervous about my answer.

“I would love to.” I said softly. Taking a chance, I hooked my index finger around his, and he grinned, letting out a breath as our fingers twined together.

We sat there silently for some time, still connected by our hands. We started to migrate closer to each other as we shifted our positions on the couch. I ended up curled into his side with my head on his shoulder. From this position, I could clearly smell the sweat still sticking to his skin, but I could detect that faint smell of body soap he probably used in the shower last night. I could imagine him scrubbing a hand over his body, spreading the distinctly _Liam_ scent over his skin. I shifted again, feeling a flash of arousal course through my body. I pushed those thoughts from my mind, not wanting to ruin the moment.

We stayed like that, pressed against each other and enjoying the other’s warmth, until Jamie came back in, hair wild from the wind that had picked up outside. I nonchalantly extracted my hand from Liam’s, hoping he’d silently understand that I didn’t want Jamie to know about what had happened, and stood up.

“Ready for dinner?” I asked, making my way into the kitchen. He nodded and followed me, washing his hands at the kitchen sink. “Will you set out the utensils and napkins?” He didn’t acknowledge me, but moved to get them.

 

***

 

In the next week, as the start of school approached, I could feel the nervous energy radiating from my son. I knew he was excited to start school, but I know from experience how overwhelmed he gets when he’s thrust into a new environment with strangers. Thankfully, I have set him up with my special education class. He will get pulled out of class for about an hour every day to work on his school work with me. And that way, if he needs time to wind down, he can take that time to do that and I can catch him up at home

The morning that school started, Liam came over to help distract Jamie a bit while I packed his lunch and got his backpack and school supplies ready. When I looked over the counter to check on them, I found them both in conversation. Jamie’s hands were moving steadily, while Liam’s eyebrows furrowed as he tried to keep up with his sentences. I didn’t focus on the words, letting them have a private conversation. I was extremely proud of my son for coming out of his shell and befriending Liam, but I still haven’t told him about the change in our relationship. I had to make up a lie about his grandmother really missing him to get him out of the house on the night of our date.

A few minutes later, when everything was ready, I exited the kitchen, causing their conversation to stop. They both looked at me and, with Jamie’s attention on me, Liam’s face softened into a smile. I’d like to think that I was the only one who had that particular smile directed at them, but I’ve seen Liam smile at my son like that.

“Are you ready, bud?” I asked, holding out his lunch and backpack. He nodded and took his things, allowing me to pick up my bag. “Okay, say bye to Liam.” Jamie waved, his bottom lip trapped between his teeth.

“It’ll be great, bud. You’ll see.” He smiled, ruffling my son’s hair as he made his way out to the car.

When my son was safely out of sight, Liam wrapped me up in a hug.

“Have a good first day. Let me know how it goes.” He said. I pulled back and connected our lips briefly before I was pulling away and walking out the door, Liam following.

“I’ll text you when we’re home. Will you be here for dinner?” Liam shook his head, muttering about his family being in town. “Then, I’ll see you later.” I waved at him as I walked to the car.

 

The ride to school was silent, in the sense that it was spent without conversation. It was still early, so I didn’t force Jamie to converse with me. I also knew he was getting more and more nervous as school got closer to starting. When we got to school, early so I’d have time to get ready, I let Jamie draw on the whiteboard and get out some of his energy. Looking out my classroom window, I saw the playground.

“Hey, Jamie, come look and see what’s outside.” I coaxed. He furrowed his eyebrows and cocked his head, shuffling over to the window. He grinned up at me, a silent plea in his eyes, as he looked. “Go ahead, but not too long. I’ll wave you in when it’s time for school.” He grinned and dashed off.

 

Unable to help myself, I rung up Jamie’s teacher, asking him to meet me in my room. When he came in, I sat across from him.

“My son, Jamie, is in your class.” I started.

“Oh! I’m so excited to meet him.” Louis said, perking up. Louis was one of the newer teachers and, nervous about the new class, I wanted to give him a heads up about my son.

“I wanted to let you know something. It’ll make your life, and my life, a whole lot easier.” I sighed. He nodded, furrowing his eyebrows. “My son doesn’t talk. Not at all. He will sign sometimes, but when he’s around other kids and adults, he tends to stay silent. I just wanted you to be aware so you don’t put him on the spot to read in class or give a speech or anything.”

“Well, thank you for letting me know. How does he work in groups? I’ve got a lot of group activities planned.”

“Since he doesn’t talk, he doesn’t interact with kids a lot, but he loves to draw and read, and I’m sure that he will be able to get his point across to you if he needs to. He’s going to be pulled out of class to come to my room, but other than that, he’s all yours.” I glanced at my watch and, noticing the time, I moved to the window to wave my son inside.

“I really don’t want him to know we had this conversation, but I kind of want him to meet you before class starts, just so he can have a general idea of what you’re like.” I said.

“That’s fine. I will follow your lead.” He smiled, and, a moment later, Jamie walked into the classroom.

“Hey, bud, this is my friend. His name is Mr. Tomlinson, and he’s going to be your teacher this year. Will you say hi?” I crossed my fingers in my head that it wouldn’t be a bad day, and smiled when he offered a shy, uncertain wave to his teacher.

Louis smiled happily and started talking. “Hi, Jamie. Do you know your alphabet?” Jamie nodded, giving his teacher a small smile. “That’s great! Can you write your name?” Another nod, and a bigger smile. “Woah! You must be super smart. We’re going to be working on introducing ourselves to the class.” Jamie’s gaze flicked up to me, and I caught a glimpse of uncertainty in his gaze.

‘What’s wrong?’ I asked.

‘Can’t talk. How introduce myself?’ Louis watched this exchange intently, and I could tell he wanted to know what we were saying. I inclined my head to Louis, silently asking my son if I could tell his teacher about his worries. He nodded minutely.

“Jamie wants to know how he’ll introduce himself to the class.”

“I was just thinking that, too. Jamie, if you’re comfortable with it, you can sign to the class your information, and I can voice for you.” Jamie’s eyes widened and I saw him retreat into himself at the idea of standing in front of his peers. “Okay, well, you can give me your paper and I can read it out for you?”

‘That’s fine,’ Jamie signed, uncomfortable after the exchange. I wanted to give him some time to calm down before he had to leave, so I sent him to gather his things.

“That’s a good sign to know with him. When his eyes get wide, that’s a sure sign that he’s starting to freak himself out. Normally, I’ll just give him a bit of time to himself, but that might be a bit hard in the classroom. If he gets too overwhelmed, and you don’t feel like you can do anything, I can always come get him.”

He grinned at me, and thanked me before walking back to his classroom.

“Jamie!” I called, startling him out of the daze he was in. He caught my eye and smiled hesitantly at me. “You okay?” I asked softly. He shrugged. “Talk to me, please?”

“Scared.” He whispered.

“Why are you scared?”

“Wha’ ‘f they hate me?” His teeth sunk into his bottom lip when it started to tremble. I wrapped an arm around him to pull him into a hug.

“They won’t hate you, but I’m not going to lie and say they won’t be confused as to why you won’t talk to them.” I pulled back from the hug and looked into his eyes. “I don’t want you to use this as an escape all the time because you do get to come to my room an hour a day, but if you ever get too overwhelmed, let your teacher know and I can come get you or you can walk down to my room.” He nodded, looking a little calmer. “Grab your stuff, I’ll walk you to your class.”

 

When I dropped him off, I didn’t make a big deal about it. I gave him a quick hug and told him to have fun. “Love you, kiddo. Don’t forget to learn something.” He rolled his eyes and waved back at me as I walked out.

 

***

 

The first couple weeks went by smoothly enough. There weren’t any crises I had to deal with in the form of my son or my other students. Turns out, Jamie really enjoyed Louis. From my low-key checkups on my son, I knew Jamil hadn’t spoken up in class, but he has bonded with a girl in his class with a deaf cousin. She knows sign language, and is one of his only friends.

Liam had been talking with Jamie while I made dinner. I could see Liam’s eyebrows furrowed deeper than I’ve ever seen them, and I felt a flash of concern when Liam frowned. I made a not to ask him about the conversation when Jamil went to bed.

 

After a bath and bedtime story, I got Jamie settled into bed. Looking back on the past few days, I noticed how much more subdued my son has been. I had thought it was just because he spent all his time in his treehouse, but he really hasn’t been as talkative at home as he has been, even if Liam isn’t here.

“Are you okay?” I asked my son, brushing his hair back from his forehead. I subtly checked for a temperature and he frowned and pulled his head out of my hand, rolling over. “Jamie?” He looked over his shoulder at me and sighed.

‘Fine. Tired.’ He signed. ‘Night, Baba.’

“Love you, kiddo.” I didn’t expect a reply, and I didn’t get one. I met Liam in the main room, and I collapsed onto the couch with a big sigh.

“You okay, babe?”

“What were you talking about with him? What’s going on?” I asked. He frowned.

“He doesn’t want me to tell you.”

“Is it bad?”

“Not _bad_ bad, but…” He trailed off.

“Are the kids being mean to him?” I asked. He looked at me and stayed quiet, giving me my answer. “Shit.”

 “Don’t worry. He told me his teacher is keeping an eye on the kid.”

“Why didn’t he tell _me_?”

“He didn’t want you to freak out and go all ‘overprotective dad’ mode on the kids.” He said. I opened my mouth to deny the statement, but he merely raised his eyebrow and I fell quiet.

“Okay, fine. I would’ve done that, but-” Liam cut me off by pressing his lips to mine. I made a noise of surprise. I let him lay me back and he hovered over me as our lips moved softly. He pulled back, pupils blown, and I smiled. “That was a nice way of telling me to shut up.” He pecked my lips softly and settled between me and the couch, allowing me to snuggle up into his side.

“Do you want to stay?” I whispered.

“Do you want me to?”

“A little bit, yeah.”

“Then I will.”

 

***

 

The Friday of week three started great. Today was the last day of school before a short holiday; we were getting the first half of next week off, and I was ready to be able to chill at home with my two favourite boys. I also planned on starting to paint the treehouse. I woke up, not to my alarm, but to a soft kiss and the smell of fresh pancakes. Confused, I opened my eyes.

“He’s awake, bud!” Liam called. My son bounded into the room and jumped onto the bed, grinning widely.

‘Have surprise!’ He signed.

“It wouldn’t have anything to do with pancakes, would it?” I asked. His eyes widened.

‘How you know?’

“Can smell them, bub, but this is a nice surprise. Did you help?”

“He did. Mixed everything together himself. I supervised and cooked.” Liam chimed in.

“Aw, thanks, guys. So sweet.” I caught Liam’s eyes and he winked at me.

 

About an hour before school ended for the day, I was in the middle of a reading passage with one of my students when my door burst open. It was the assistant principle, and I could tell this wouldn’t be good.

“Hi,” I said slowly, not wanting to scare my student. “What can I do for you, Ms. Williams?”

“I’ll look after your class for a bit, but your son…” I felt my blood run cold, and I dashed out of the room, throwing a quick thank you over my shoulder.

I ran to my son’s room, only a few halls away from my room. I stopped outside the door, and could hear nothing. A silent classroom full of five-year-olds isn’t common, and it didn’t help settle my nerves. I slowly opened the door, and found a woman I’ve never seen before trying to talk to my son. He was curled up in a ball on the floor, wedged in a corner. His face was pale and he had his hands tangled in his hair, pulling intermittently. His breathing was short and choppy, and I knew he was having an anxiety attack. I glanced over my shoulder to see the kids huddled in the corner, eyes wide and fearful. I knew I had to get him out of here, but I knew he wouldn’t be able to walk. I hurried over to him. The woman noticed me and went to check on the other kids, probably knowing who I was.

“Hey, buddy. Can you look at me?” I asked softly. He didn’t look, didn’t even register that he’d heard me. I sighed. I waved the woman back over who looked to be in charge, and she came, clearly uncomfortable.

“What’s happening?” She asked, glancing warily at my kid who, despite his obvious distress, was totally silent.

“He’s having an anxiety attack. What happened that caused this?”

“Nothing. I have no idea. I tried to get him to read a passage to the class, and everyone kept telling me he couldn’t read, but I know he can. He was the first one finished with his worksheet earlier.” I cursed in my head.

“He can read, but he doesn’t talk. Did you keep asking him to read?” She nodded uncertainly, and I wanted to scream. “He doesn’t talk in front of people. He freaked out cause he knew he wouldn’t be able to do what you wanted.”

“Oh, god, I’m _so_ sorry!”

“It’s okay, but I need to get him out of here.” The kids had started whispering, growing louder as the seconds passed, and I knew the noise would keep him from calming down. “He’s going to freak out when I pick him up, so can you keep this kids’ attention over there?” She nodded and I let her walk over before I stooped down to get my son.

I planned to pick him up to where I can trap his arms by his sides and, when I made the move to grab him, I got him. However, what I didn’t bet on was a scream ripping itself from his throat. The class fell silent instantly, and I bet that was the first noise these kids had ever heard him make. The bad part was, the scream startled me and caused me to loosen my grip around him. He wiggled an arm out of my grip and I got a nice left hook to the eye. I wrestled his arm back by his side and carried him out of the room, face throbbing. I knew it would bruise.

I carefully set him down as soon as we got around the corner, watching him immediately curl in on himself again. I had brought him out onto the playground for a bit of fresh air and so he was safe from scaring other kids if he screamed again. His breathing was still shallow, but his tiny chest was heaving with terror. His hands, no longer pinned to his sides, were back in his hair. I sat next to him, humming lowly. I hummed softly until his breathing evened out, but he was still curled in a ball.

“Hey, bud,” I murmured softly. I rested a hesitant hand on his head and, when he didn’t freak out, I pulled him into my side and started singing. It was some nonsensical song we heard on the radio this morning that’s been stuck in my head, but he slowly came out of the ball and when I felt the tension leave his shoulders, I only got a second’s warning before he was sobbing into my chest.

His fingers brushed against my ribs and tapped softly, his silent way of apologizing.

“Why are you sorry, buddy?” He backed away and scrubbed at his face.

‘Don’t like that. Scare me.’

“I know, love. Scares me, too.” He sniffled a little bit and wiped his nose on the back of his hand, leaning into my body.

“Sorry.” He whispered.

“It’s okay. Are you ready to go home?” He nodded, yawning widely.

 

***

 

We’d only been home about an hour before there was a knock on the door. Smiling tiredly, I let Liam into the house. Jamil, upon getting home, had been really subdued and moody. He hadn’t said a word to me since his apology on the playground, and he’d gone up to his room as soon as he walked in the house.

“The hell happened to your face?” Liam exclaimed, cupping my jaw softly to tilt my head up.

“Jamie hit me.” His mouth dropped open, and I chuckled. “Had an anxiety attack and-”

“And he hates being touched.” He finished knowingly. I looked up at him.

“How do you know that?”

“The night you told me why he doesn’t speak. You told me about the first time you saw one. Hit you in the jaw.” His voice was soft, and his thumb brushed over the bruise on my face, making me wince. He frowned.

“I’m okay.” I pulled him down by the collar of his shirt and pressed my lips against his firmly. Liam gasped and pulled back, and I could see that his face was bright red. I frowned and noticed his eyes focused on something behind me. I squeezed my eyes shut and, for the first time in my life, cursed everything for having such a silent son. I turned around and locked eyes with Jamil.

“Hey, bub. I’m going to start dinner in a bit.” He said nothing. He didn’t sign. He just stared at Liam with furrowed brows. His eyes travelled down to where we, unknown to us, had locked hands. I dropped Liam’s hand like he burned me and took a step closer to my son. “Jamie,” I started.

“Out.” Jamie’s voice was dark, lower than I ever thought a kid’s voice could get. His eyes flashed with something I’d never seen before as they stared down Liam, regardless of being significantly shorter. My breath caught in my throat, and I could feel the tension rising in the air. Liam didn’t move a muscle. “Get out!” My son screamed. Liam flinched and, without another word, he turned around and was out the door.

“Jamie, what-”

“No!” He shouted. He stormed upstairs.

“Jamil Eshan Malik! Get back down here right now!” I called up the stairs. The only response I got was a door slam. I backed up into the closest wall and slid down, burying my face in my hands. I let the tears fall.

 

The house was dead silent for three hours. Thankfully, it was a Friday night, and we both didn’t have to get up early tomorrow. I called in and ordered a pizza, knowing I wouldn’t want to cook, and knowing Jamie wouldn’t come down to eat.

I don’t think I had ever seen my son so furious before, much less having that fury directed at me. He’d never yelled at me either. The handful of times he’s screamed, they were mostly from fear or pain. But this time, it was different.

When the pizza arrived, I put a few pieces on a plate and took it up to Jamie.

“Hey, buddy. I ordered pizza if you’re hungry.” I called through the door. When he didn’t respond, I set it down. “I’m gonna leave it outside if you get hungry. I’m gonna head to bed. Come get me if you need me.” I sighed and went back to my bedroom.

I sprawled out on my bed and stared up at the ceiling. Now that I’d been able to calm myself down a bit, I couldn’t help but worry about Liam. Even knowing him for only a short time, Liam knew that Jamie wasn’t aggressive. To witness Jamie not only scream, but scream with that amount of fury behind his words would be scary. Wanting to take my mind off everything, I decided to take a shower and head to bed.

 

It was completely black in my room when I was woken up. Confused on where I was, I realised that I was probably somewhere early in the morning. I couldn’t for the life of me figure out what woke me up until I saw a small silhouette in front of my bed. I was shocked. I hadn’t really seen much of my son since he yelled at Liam. It had been three days since then, and, glad we had a break from school, I sat up.

“Jamie?” I grumbled, still half asleep. He didn’t say anything, so I flicked on the lamp. Squinting my eyes against the light, I could see the tear tracks on my son’s face. He had soft bruises under his eyes, and I knew instantly he hadn’t slept. A quick glance at the clock showed that it was nearing five in the morning and, despite the small amount of anger I felt, I could still feel my heart ache for the small boy.

‘I sorry.’ His signs were small, uncertain, and his hands were shaking. I knew this was him feeling guilty.

“Why are you sorry?”

‘Yelled at you. Made you sad.’ He scrunched up his eyes, but continued, his breath shaky as he exhaled. ‘Made Liam sad.’

“Why’d you get so angry?” I asked. “You were the one who told me Liam liked me.”

‘Not expect that to happen. Like Liam. Don’t want him leave.’

“I don’t think he’d leave, bub. He kinda likes it here, and he likes the both of us.”

‘Mommy left. She said she loves us. She _left_!’ His signing was getting choppy and big, letting me know he was about to start yelling again, or he was going to cry.

“She did. You’re right. But your mom and I weren’t meant for each other.” Jamie stayed quiet for a while, his eyebrows furrowing deeply.

‘That mean…’ He paused and frowned deeply. His bottom lip started trembling, and tears welled up in his eyes. I sat up quickly, ready to pull him into a hug before his hands were signing sharply. ‘That mean I was mistake!’ My mouth opened but, before I could respond, he was out the door. I ran my hands through my hair, groaning loudly as the door slammed shut. I heard another door slam and my heart jumped when I realised he went outside.

“Shit!” I yelled. I grabbed my jacket and walked outside, over to the bottom of the tree. “Jamie?” I called. I got no response, so I started up the ladder.

When I opened the door, I found Jamie curled up in his chair, sniffling. I relaxed, thankful he hadn’t run off.

“You know you’re not a mistake, buddy,” I said softly, crouching down to sit next to him. He ignored me. I sighed, deciding to explain myself a bit. “No, Jamie, your mom and I weren’t meant to be together forever, but we did love each other. We got married and had you, but then after a while, we realised we weren’t _in_ love. So, we decided that we shouldn’t stay together. You were only a baby.”

I caught movement from his chair and I looked at him. ‘Okay.’

“I love you, kiddo. Don’t ever forget that.” He nodded. “Why’d you yell at Liam?”

‘Not want him leave, too.’ He didn’t really answer my question, but I left it alone.

“I can’t promise that he won’t, but we do care about each other. I bet you really upset him by yelling at him.”

‘Sorry.’

“I’m not the one you need to be apologizing to, bud.” He nodded, and I decided to leave him to himself. “I’ll be inside if you need me.” He caught my eye to let me know he heard, and curled into himself a little more.

 

***

 

I went to get Jamie from his treehouse about ten that morning, hoping he’d be calm enough to take a short nap. I was yawning, and I knew he’d gotten even less sleep than I had. However, when I climbed the ladder to ask him to come inside, he wasn’t there. He had probably gone back to bed already.

I checked his room, but he wasn’t there either.

“Jamie?” I called, wandering around the house. I got no response, which wasn’t surprising, given he hadn’t spoken in a while, but I could feel the panic rising. “Jamie! I need you to say something or come find me, please.” I called a little louder. I gave it a few minutes, but my son didn’t show himself, and I could feel the panic take hold of me. “Jamil!” I yelled. I felt tears stinging my eyes, and I walked back outside to check again, just to make sure.

When I still couldn’t find him, I thought of Liam. He’d know what to do.

 

I walked up the drive next to our house, and knocked on the door, loud and fast.

“Hey, Z,” I smiled half-heartedly at him. “C’mon in.” He pulled me inside and I couldn’t breathe. He took one look at me, hair a mess, pale face, red eyes, and frowned. “What’s wrong?”

“I-I…” I trailed off, unsure of what to say. My eyes started to sting again, and Liam pulled me into his arms as I burst into tears. “I can’t find Jamie.”

“It’s okay, babe.”

“No! It isn’t. I can’t find my son!”

“Zayn, he’s on the couch.” I blinked up at him through my tears, and I knew the puzzled look on my face must be hilarious, but he didn’t laugh.

“What?”

“He’s been here for a couple hours. He came to apologise.” He nodded over at the couch and I saw a familiar head of dark hair laying against the arm. My chest heaved as I took a deep breath, relieved. “If I’d known you didn’t know where he was, I would’ve let you know.”

“It’s okay. Just glad he’s okay.”

“He’s asleep. Came over and explained a bit of what happened, apologised, and when I went to get him some water, I came back and he was passed out.” He rubbed a hand over my arm, smiling softly.

“Did he speak at all?”

“No, why?”

“Hasn’t spoken since Friday.” I sighed. “He’s upset with himself.”

“We had a nice chat, a few hiccups with the communication, but we worked through it.” I let out a breath and felt my entire body relax.

“Are we okay?” I asked softly.

“Yeah, babe,” He said. “I missed you.” He cupped my cheek softly and I leaned in to kiss him.

“I missed you, too.” I looked around Liam’s place, taking in the surroundings. “I like your place.”

“Should see my bedroom.” He winked, and I could feel my face grow hot.

“Don’t tempt me.” I leaned my head onto his chest. I remembered something. “Where’s your dog?”

“Oh, he’s outside. I put him out because I wasn’t sure about how Jamie would react to him.”

“I don’t think he’s ever met a dog in person.” I said, sneaking my hand into Liam’s. He led me over to the window that faced into his yard, and I saw a small black and white dog curled up under a tree. “He’s so cute.”

I guess our voices were louder than we thought, because the sound of movement caused us to look around. Jamie’s eyes were open and they glanced down at our hands. Unsure, I let go of Liam’s hand and went to sit by my son.

“Hey, buddy,” I said, petting his messy hair. “You know, you scared me. I didn’t know you’d left the house. You can’t do that again, okay? Not without telling me.” He nodded silently, eyes fixed on my pants.

“Please look at me.” His eyes flashed up to mine and returned to staring at my pants. “Jamie,” I whispered. His eyes met mine and they started tearing up. “Hey, no, don’t cry. It’s okay! Liam said you came over to apologise. I wish you’d told me before you left, but I’m proud of you for coming over.” I pulled him into a hug and he melted into my arms, sniffling softly.

“Hey, Jamie, you wanna meet my puppy?” Liam asked softly. Jamie pulled away from my hug and, with wide, nervous eyes, nodded slowly. “C’mon. He’s outside.”

Liam led both of us outside and slid the door open. He whistled loudly, grabbing to puppy’s attention. He sprang to his feet and dashed to the house. Jamie, unsure about the black and white animal, stuck close to me.

“Loki, sit,” Liam said sternly. The dog glanced at Liam and sat, his tail wagging quickly. “Stay.” Liam went around to a small basket and pulled out a tennis ball. Loki let out a loud bark and Jamie flinched.

“Jamie, do you want to throw the ball?” Jamie shook his head quickly and I held out my hand for the ball.

I tossed the ball and the dog flinched, but didn’t move. He glanced at Liam and he chuckled.

“Go get it!” Liam said, and the dog took off.

“Wow. He’s very well trained.” I commented as the dog bounded back.

“When I wasn’t building the treehouse, I was working with him.” Loki dropped the ball at my feet and stepped back.

“Jamie?” I prompted my son, and he picked up the ball slowly, keeping his eye on the dog.

“Do you want to pet him?” Liam asked softly. Jamie’s eyebrows furrowed, but he nodded minutely. “Loki, sit. Stay.” Liam walked up to the dog and held his collar, mostly for my son, and beckoned him forward. “Go ahead. Pet his head or his back.”

My son’s small hand touched the dog’s fur near his shoulders and the dog turned his head to look at him. Jamie pulled his hand back quickly, scared. When the dog didn’t do anything else, Jamie smiled and continued to pet him.

Before long, Jamie stood back up and grabbed the ball he had dropped to pet Loki. He threw the ball and, impatient, chased after the dog. After a few steps, however, he turned around and looked at me. He signed something quickly and turned back to play with the dog. Liam looked at me, confused.

“What’d he say?”

“He told me to hold your hand.”

**Author's Note:**

> Don't forget to leave me a comment and tell me how you like it and what you'd want in the next part!


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